He still has fuck me eyes I thought, as my fingers slid along his throat, feeling the blood pulse beneath the thin flesh.

"How'd I die, Lior?" He says. His voice is soft, the sweetest I've ever heard it. Touching him is still just a reminder of how things were, before all his pretty blood was spilt, but I can't help it. I want to fuck him, and a million reasons not to come to mind, a million words that mean next to nothing. Necrophilia is one.

"Die?" His skin is so smooth, almost warm, and some of the aesthetics seem to slip my mind, because I kiss him, mouth working in time with his. He tastes like dust and his tongue is surprisingly agile. "Why do you want to think about that right now?"

He nuzzles his head along my wrist, eyes large and innocent.

"Please tell me, you're the only one who knows."

This is the game. He pretends he adores me and I pretend I believe him. We've been playing it longer than I care to remember.

"Alright," I don't know what to tell him. "You drowned."

"Drowned?" His voice is laced with disbelief, as his fingers brush the clumsy stitching along his neck. I remind myself that string is all that's keeping his head in place, and that is proof enough that he is very dead.

"Yes," I trace a faint line along his cheek, soft as moth's wings. "You fell from the bridge into the lake and hit your head on a rock. By the time I found you, you were already dead." My voice is cold, and we both know I'm lying. He was probably dead before he hit the water.

"Oh," He says, and I hate how his voice sounds right now. It's a palpable entity in my mind, ripping apart and devouring brain matter and feelings I wanted to forget.

It's that voice and I can feel the knife back in my hand.

"So, that's it?" He says. "I just…" He trails off and stares into empty space.

"I'm tired," I tell him. "I'm going to bed."

He looks at me again.

"Can I go with you?" He can see I'm trying to find a way to say no. "I'm not dead any more. It's lonely by myself all the time."

"Alright."

Even though he smiles, I wonder what it will be like sleeping next to a dead body.

Authors Notes:
This story, was, originally supposed to be epic and 20 pages long, but that didn't work out, and the only good bit I got out of it was this.

It was inspired by an episode of Monsters, where I wondered what it would be like being in love with something dead, and Cinema Strange. I can't remember what song in particular, because it was a long time ago, but probably Lindsay's Trachea.

And finally, I got the title from an amazingly creepy Virgin Prunes song. Because I find this story pretty creepy, but I'm just the writer.

Maybe one day I'll finish it.